


Angel

by siyrean



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms
Genre: Bittersweet, Christine's child, F/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-20
Updated: 2015-03-20
Packaged: 2018-03-18 18:51:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3580179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siyrean/pseuds/siyrean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Years after the events at the opera house, Erik finds himself in the rather advantageous position of discovering Christine's young daughter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Angel

**Author's Note:**

> wrote this back in 2005

The eyes of the man went wide as the cord slid tight around his sickly pallid neck. There wasn't even time to scream before his last breath was cut short and the life began to fade from his blurred vision. With a dull thud, the lifeless body fell to the ground and a feeling of empty triumph filled the masked spectre as the Punjab lasso sprang to life at his call, returning to his deathly hand with only a quick movement of the wrist. What was another life to him? Another nameless faceless victim? They were all the same, that is, in the end at least.

The silent night once again enveloped Erik's cloaked form; not even the subtle crunching of the snow under the sole of his heel could disturb its peaceful slumber. With a gentle sigh, he stepped back from the useless corpse at his foot. Was it even worth the effort anymore he wondered, turning his head from the putrid smell of cheep alcohol and urine, which seemed to cling to the man's collapsed form.

But there was a sound piercing the quiet of the night. The soft, distressed cry of a child brought Erik's attention back to his surroundings. Had he been seen? Quickly he left the shadowy eclipse of the alleyway only to run headlong into the source of the offending noise.

Only six years old and barely to his waist, the small girl blinked back tears in shock as she stared at the imposing man before her. To her, he must have seemed massive, with his cloak billowing impressively behind him and his fedora casting a menacing shadow across his masked, expressionless face. Her face was flushed with red pigment as she stood trembling, while two familiar, startling blue eyes stared out from a curtain of curling brown hair.

Turning swiftly, he hoped the child would simply forget him and began back down the alley, when –

"Angel?"

That singular, bell like tone held him fast in his tracks. Erik turned to stare at the pitiful girl, whose face was now aglow with wonder, and curiosity.

"Angel of music. You're the angel of music!" the girl exclaimed, wiping her face dry with an already damp sleeve, and taking a firm step forward.

His mind racing, Erik could do nothing but watch her with increasing perplexity. What a child her age would be doing wandering the streets at such an hour was one question, but why would she call him that? Only one person ever called him that before.

"Maman told me about you," she breathed. If possible, the girl's eyes grew wider and she suddenly grasped his hand, sufficiently shocking the man with such an incautious action. "If you are an angel, than you can help me! I need to go home, but I don't know how."

Erik looked down at his spider like hand now clasped within the girl's freezing one, not wanting to believe the growing suspicion forming in the back of his mind. She looked at him with such hope, such desperation, that he found himself unable to look away and unconsciously his hand tighten around hers while he knelt down to speak to the girl more directly.

"What is your name, child?" he asked in a soft whisper, not sure if he wanted to hear the answer.

The girl gasped at the sound of his voice. "Desiree de Chagny, sir."

He nodded in silent confirmation, closing his eye so that they wouldn't betray any unwanted emotion as a cold breeze chilled his stoic body. Christine's daughter, Christine had a daughter and here she was, alone, and vulnerable. But what was he to do with her? The situation seemed to present himself with many intriguing possibilities and his thoughts grew dark, considering them all.

"Angel, will you help me?" she asked more nervously, as though she could feel a change in the atmosphere.

Erik rose from his position, still holding on to the girl's hand and allowing his lips to curl into a thin, wry smile. "Yes child," he said quietly, drawing the girl closer to his body. "Yes, I believe I can help you."

It did not take long for them to reach the Chagny estate and though it was well into the night, all the lights were still fully lit and the house seemed awake with excitement. The two of them made their way up the street but at the echo of hooves and the faint sound of a woman sobbing, Erik quickly pulled Desiree and himself from view.

"Angel?" she gasped.

"We must be quiet, little one. Part of being a good angel is not being seen." He said this quietly, his eyes, now thin slits, remaining on the slowly approaching carriage, while his hands firmly held the girl from sight.

"But that carriage, I'm sure it's ours!" the girl exclaimed, struggling to run towards it but Erik merely readjusted his grip and lightly held his hand to her mouth.

"You are reckless, child. Secrecy and cunning are the true ways of an angel." He glanced down at her now wide and unsure eyes. "An angel from where is another matter, mind you."

He looked back up in time to see the carriage pass slowly with the shrouded figure of a woman, clearly crying, within. A strong shiver ran through his entire body as he gaped at the sight of her. How long had it been since he'd seen her? How long since he heard her perfectly pitched voice? Looked into those eyes, so often stained with tears? How could he bare to hear her weep when he knew there was something he could do to alleviate it?

He watched as his former pupil stepped from the carriage, supported by what looked like a housemaid, and giving a small struggle against being guided to the house. Keeping his eyes keenly upon the scene, Erik strained to hear what was being said.

"Madam, please come in side. You will be of no help if you're stuck in bed with a cold."

Christine only struggled more fiercely, her sobbing carrying audibly thought the air. "How can you say that!" she nearly screamed. "I will not go inside! Not when she is still out there! I don't deserve to ever step inside again if I don't find her…"

He could hear no more of the conversation, but it had been enough for him to understand the situation. With some effort, the maid managed to escort Christine's weak form into the impressive house and the door shut quietly behind them. He was once again alone with his thoughts, silently trying to imprint her ethereal image into the back of his eyes.

"Angel, you're trembling. Are you very cold?"

The innocent sound of a child's voice seemed so out of place in the deadly quiet of the night. How was it he forgot she was there?

A deep, shuddering breath escaped from his parched lips but he did not look down. "Yes… I suppose I am."

"Well then, let's go inside. I'm sure Maman will insist you stay until you are warm. I'm sure she'll excited to see you!" The girl tugged relentlessly at his arm, in a meagre attempt to pull him to the door, but still he stood firm, with his head cocked to the side, and looking at her with an odd curiosity.

With the air of a man about to do something against all better judgments, Erik released the small hand from his grip and took a hesitant step back. "You go on now, Desiree. Your mother will be missing you."

"But – "

Erik cut her off quickly with the slightest gesture of the hand. "Your mother long ago out grew her use for angels. Go on now. Don't worry her any more."

After shooting a thoroughly confused glare at this odd stranger, the girl shrugged and quickly ran the rest of the way to the steps of her house.

He would not wait and temp himself with another look, instead he hurried away from the scene, wishing the night to envelop and drown him from that vision he was leaving behind.

He spent the next day immersed in his own private world of music, letting its sweeping melodies pull him from thoughts that constantly drifted to her. Music was his only true sanctuary from the torments of his mind and after last night, he didn't want to be free to think at all.

He could never see her again, of that he would have to be sure. How could he look upon that face again and not take her with him? Not be over come by that incredible urge to simply touch her? What he would give to hold her! It was not until well into the evening that Erik was able to pull himself back to reality and decided to risk a quiet, weary walk outside, but when he opened his door, he was greeted with the curious sight of a simply, yet carefully, wrapped package with a small card idly placed to its side.

In a movement coursing with trepidation, Erik reached for the card and held it before him with an odd sense of foreboding. Opening the delicate card, he began to read;

_Though I may have out grown my use for an angel, I am none the less grateful for their existence._

He read it over several times before turning his attention to the package. Christine. 

Gently, and with deliberate care, Erik unwrapped the package and pulled out its contents. He wasn't sure what to expect, but an expensive pair of fine leather gloves and a black nit scarf was certainly not it. 

Another note accompanied them.

_My daughter thought it silly that an angel should be cold._

Not sure weather to laugh or cry, Erik drew the small bundle to his chest and breathed in their scent before retreating cautiously back into his domain. While running a spectral hand over his masked face, he placed them reverently behind a glass cabinet under lock and key where he often found himself gazing longingly, for truly, who had ever received such great gifts as these?


End file.
